


double chocolate muffins and cigarettes

by sportsnightnut



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 13:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17808833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sportsnightnut/pseuds/sportsnightnut
Summary: “Are you okay?” Mulder asks, and it’s this seemingly innocent yet not so innocent question that causes Dana Scully to snap.





	double chocolate muffins and cigarettes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScullyLovesQueequeg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyLovesQueequeg/gifts).



> My 2019 Valentine's Day fic exchange entry! My recipient shared with me that she enjoys unrequited love and angst, and also told me this didn't need to be incredibly fluffy. I hope I've given you just that! I tend to gravitate toward writing fluff, so this was a great exercise for me. I hope you enjoy, my friend! :)

_the you I miss does not exist, but I’ve never wanted anybody more than this_

_-john mayer_

* * *

It’s 5:53 on Thursday morning, and Dana Scully’s first thought is that she really, really, _really_ wants a cigarette.

Her alarm isn’t supposed to go off for another seven minutes. She could’ve had seven more glorious, unconscious minutes where she wasn’t awake and she wasn’t thinking about _him_ or _it_ or _anything_. But her internal clock decided that wasn’t necessary, so now she’s here, awake, staring at the ceiling and contemplating which expletives best fit her mood this morning.

Scully throws the covers off, sliding off the bed and right into her slippers. She pads out to the living room and turns on the television, which is still on The Weather Channel from yesterday morning. She throws the remote unceremoniously on the couch and makes her way to the kitchen.

While she starts the coffee, she listens for the infamous “Local on the 8s” segment to advise her on what to wear today. For the end of February in Washington, it’s been unseasonably, and somewhat obnoxiously, warm. As she suspected, high of 51 today, which is practically _balmy_ after last week’s snow showers and highs in the low 20s. Her sinuses are furious.

Scully’s shower this morning is quick, partially because she doesn’t _care_ that much today, and partially because there’s been a lack of hot water in the building lately. She’s not about to risk an extra five minutes just in case it turns to ice 

Black suit, white shirt, black heels, a swipe of lipstick, and she’s out the door at 7:06.

She doesn’t feel like driving today, so she takes the Metro, Yellow line to the Archives station. There’s a bakery she likes about a block in the opposite direction of work, and since it’s the kind of morning that calls for a muffin the size of her face, Scully stops there first before ducking into the pharmacy next door to grab a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

She smokes two on the walk back. At first, it burns her throat and her lungs, but then she decides she kind of likes the feeling, so she finishes the first and shakes out a second. Scully finds an odd sense of pleasure in grinding a cigarette butt into the concrete sidewalk, something she would normally find repulsive. 

When she steps off the elevator and into the office (their office? his office?), she’s surprised to find that Mulder is already there, digging through a file cabinet. He turns around when he hears her open the door. 

“Eight o’clock on the dot, Agent Scully,” Mulder remarks with a smile, the kind Scully can’t decide if she loves or hates because she can’t decide if it’s endearing or annoying. This morning, in particular, it feels annoying.

 “Mmm,” she replies as she hangs her coat. Since he isn’t currently at the desk, Scully decides it’s hers for the moment and takes a seat, tearing open the paper bag to reveal the double chocolate muffin inside. She takes a bite, wiping the crumbs off her skirt onto the floor, before she reaches for her travel mug of coffee and takes a drink.

“Are you okay?” Mulder asks, and it’s _this_ , this question, this seemingly innocent yet not so innocent question that causes Dana Scully to snap.

And she’s not sure if it’s because _he_ asked it or if it’s _how_ he asked it or _why_ he asked it, but if she were asked to detail everything leading up to this moment that led her to react the way she did, here is what she would tell you:

 _One_ : she’s been surrounded by alpha male figures her entire life, the most notable being her father. Captain William Scully. Sometimes she wonders what it might’ve been like to grow up away from the military, away from the structure, the rigidity, the “you’ll do what you’re ordered to do” culture that dictated their family. What would it’ve been like to have a more benevolent father? Would it have made any difference? For her? For her brothers? For Maggie?

When she’d asked Maggie whether or not he was proud of her, all Maggie had said was: “He was your father.”

What was that supposed to _mean_? Was it just assumed that he was proud of her? As much as Scully doesn’t want to admit it, she was desperate for his approval, and she really needed to hear it from him. But now he’s gone, and she can’t ask that of a dead man.

* * *

  _Two_ : Sometimes it is really fucking exhausting to be a woman in a male-dominated field in a male-dominated organization in a male-dominated government in a male-dominated society. Could Dana Scully run circles around half the men in the FBI? Absolutely. Is she a better shot than half the men in the FBI? Absolutely. But does she also have to prove herself every day, far more than any of the men she works with ever have?

Absolutely.

* * *

  _Three_ : Maggie cannot seem to stop pestering her about “settling down,” especially now that she’s _gasp_ turned thirty.

They had dinner for her birthday last Sunday; a nice, quiet, mother and daughter meal. Scully ordered a fancy salad with grilled salmon and an expensive glass of pinot grigio, and almost as soon as her fork pierced those first bites of lettuce, Maggie said “So, Dana…” and Scully tried so desperately not to roll her eyes because she knew exactly where Maggie was headed.

Maggie means well. Scully _knows_ that she means well. It’s just that if Scully hadn’t already been slightly self-conscious about celebrating her thirtieth birthday by having dinner with her mother, she was as soon as those two words left Maggie’s lips.

Scully is a doctor. A board-certified physician who is also a badass, gun-wielding Special Agent for the FB-fucking-I and all she can think about right now is the fact that she isn’t _married_ and she’s having her thirtieth birthday dinner with her _mother._

* * *

  _Four_ : Speaking of that whole doctor thing.

Scully knew early on in life that she wanted to be a doctor. Heavily influenced by her parents, of course, though she felt she’d come to the decision on her own. She loved science and logic, and she also felt called to serve others; practicing medicine was the perfect blend of two things she truly loved.

And sometimes Scully would daydream about becoming a doctor; getting that white coat, making rounds in the hospital. Maybe specializing in surgery, maybe pediatrics, maybe pediatric surgery. And she’d meet a handsome fellow physician, and they’d be an absolutely _adorable_ couple, eating lunch together in the cafeteria and consulting on each other’s cases.

Now she’s found herself in the basement of the Hoover building, daydreaming instead about the man sitting just feet from her. He’s not a doctor, no, but he’s incredibly well-educated in his own right, having attended Oxford and graduated with honors from the academy.

But that’s just it: all she’s done so far is daydream.

* * *

  _Five_ : Speaking of Mulder.

Sometimes he’s irritating. Really irritating. For a few different reasons, of course, one being the fact that he is obnoxiously tall. All six feet of him towering over her five-foot-three frame. Mulder likes to stand behind her, often when she’s performing autopsies. He’d tell you it’s because he finds it--and her--fascinating. Scully doesn’t know that, so it feels a _lot_ like he’s watching her every move, waiting for something that’ll prove he’s right and she’s wrong.

And Mulder can also be a bit of a condescending asshole.

But here’s the thing: he’s also really, really attractive. And really, really smart. And did she mention attractive?

* * *

  _Six_ : Scully finds herself coming to Mulder’s defense more often than not. 

They’re not _dating_ or in any kind of relationship other than “work partners,” yet Scully finds herself defending him and/or _having to_ defend him. Regularly. To their colleagues, to Skinner, to random strangers who don’t know him. And having to do this all the damn time is starting to get irritating.

It’s not only because she’s tired of defending him. She’s also tired of other people not understanding Mulder; not knowing her partner well enough to see how intelligent he is and that really, he doesn’t _need her_ to defend him. Sometimes people will listen to her more than they’ll listen to Mulder because she’s the logical, rational one, without stopping to consider that Mulder might actually have a point. Playing the role of defender is, quite honestly, wearing on her.

* * *

  _Seven_ : Scully has made some hints, both subtle and not-so-subtle, that she likes Mulder as more than a work partner.

But he’s either an idiot or he’s missed every single one of them.

Does she _really_ need to stand so close to him? No. 

Does she need to purposely touch his hand every time he passes over a file or gives her a pen? No.

Does she need to sit on the bed in his hotel room and pass takeout containers back and forth while they compare notes and work on their reports? No.

Does she need to linger even after they’ve finished their work and talk with him late into the night? Definitely not.

Does she need to wear that one suit she knows he really likes because she’s seen him look at her appreciatively in it several times? No.

Although she’d be lying if she said she didn’t do it on purpose and that she didn’t enjoy the butterflies-in-her-stomach feeling that accompanied Mulder’s appreciative (but not creepy) gaze.

* * *

  _Eight_ : Scully got stood up last night. On her birthday.

She shouldn’t have planned a date on her birthday. She knows better. It’s just that she was supposed to go on a date with this guy named Peter and he said he was available on Wednesday, so she agreed, deciding not to tell him it was her birthday.

He’d chosen an Irish pub for their date, which was a little out of Scully’s first date (and overall) comfort zone, but she decided to give it a go anyway. _Why the hell not_. Except, of course, for the part where Peter never showed up and never called to explain why.

So Scully sat at the bar, alone, with a few pints of beer and something called Irish Nachos to keep her company. She decided that if she was going to be stood up, she may as well make the most of it with a plate of waffle fries covered in cheese. 

Along with the fact that she was stood up last night, she’s also thinking about the fact that yet another Valentine’s day has passed without a man. Without a partner, a significant other, someone to buy her a cheesy card and a box of chocolate and maybe some flowers.

She hates that she wants these things.

* * *

  _Eight point one_ : Cheap beer and cigarettes.

The cheap Irish beer was good last night. It was appropriate for the situation. It wasn’t a glass of “I’m on a date” red wine. It was three or so pints of “I don’t give a fuck” beer.

And something about this cheap beer made her crave cigarettes for the first time in over a decade. She knows they’re terrible for her and she shouldn’t want them, but she’s been frustrated out of her goddamn mind and they just _sounded good._  

She used to sneak cigarettes as a teenager, simultaneously exhilarated that she was breaking the rules while being terrified that her father was going to find out. It was rebellious, and it was wrong. It’s still wrong, both because smoking is terrible for you and because Dana Katherine Scully is a _rule follower_.

But she’s tired of following the rules. Tired of worrying about what’s good for her or bad for her. She just wants to do _something_ without considering the consequences.

Which leads her to buy that giant double chocolate muffin, that pack of cigarettes, and that lighter.

* * *

  _Nine_ : Scully wishes, more than she would ever admit, that Mulder would just _ask her out_ _already_.

She sees the way he looks at her. She knows the way she looks at him.

She’s mad about this, too, though. It’s adhering to these typical gender roles and procedures of “guy asks girl out.”

It’s 1994, damn it. She could ask him out if she wanted to, you know? Just walk into the office and say “Mulder, would you like to go to dinner with me?” And he’d say yes, and that would be the end of that. The end of that frustration and tension and that “will they won’t they” dance they keep doing around each other.

* * *

  _Ten_ : Scully doesn’t say that last part.

Instead, she says this: “Fuck off, Mulder.”

Mulder blinks several times, very slowly, as if he can’t process the words that have just come out of his partner’s mouth.

“I…” he starts, but doesn’t know what to say. Because he doesn’t know what he’s done. Because all he’s really guilty of is being hot and brilliant and _really fucking distracting_. Because he has nothing and everything to do with the nine other reasons she’s exhausted and frustrated and smells faintly of cigarette smoke.

Scully thinks maybe she should apologize, except  she wouldn’t know where to begin. She’d have to go through all ten point one steps of everything leading up to her telling Mulder to fuck off. So she doesn’t. She takes a bite of her muffin and says nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder says. “I didn’t...I didn’t mean…” he trails off. He’s apologizing and doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for.

Scully sighs. “Yeah. Me too. It’s fine. Let’s get to work, okay?”

It’ll be a long, long while--years, in fact--before Mulder finally understands what all of this was about.


End file.
